


i've missed you ( but i haven't met you )

by CapriciousCrab



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Precognition, Psychic Abilities, Reincarnation, Searching for Soulmate, Soulmates, mentions of past lives, the use of tarot cards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 16:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17605100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousCrab/pseuds/CapriciousCrab
Summary: Phil had woken before he could utter a sound, as was always the case in these dreams. His foresight is a limited one, doling out fragments of imagery to be pieced together throughout the many years he's been waiting. He’s been patient throughout his many lives, but time is running out and his hope with it.





	i've missed you ( but i haven't met you )

Phil runs his bowl underneath the stream of cold water, his phone tucked between shoulder and ear as he listens to his mum chatter about her weekend. The familiarity is comforting, even if all he can squeeze in are a few hums in agreement. He's a mama's boy, something about him that’s never changed, and he loves her, loves listening to her ramble about her life on the isle. And if distant memories of other mothers sometimes creep into his awareness, he quietly tucks them away.  
  
He tunes back into her voice and lets it soothe him. She's winding down now, asking if he'll come to visit her soon. Yes, of course, he says cheerfully. He's aware time is ebbing away, slipping from between his fingers like so many fine grains of sand, but he'd never disappoint his mum.  
  
He leans against the counter after her call and sips from his mug, the smooth porcelain cradled carefully in his hands. His fingers tap lightly along the sides to a tune only he can hear as he enjoys his morning coffee. It rolls over his tongue, rich and bitter as he thinks about last night's dream and what the cards may portend. He shivers a bit in expectation and makes his way over to the little table beneath the window.  
  
One of his favorite places in the flat, a rustic slab of beech and hawthorn pushed beneath the windowsill where it soaks in the warmth of the dancing sunbeams. It shares that warmth with him as he sits and trails his fingers over the pots of aloe and ivy set out along the sill. They look happy, he thinks as he pokes a gentle fingertip into the soil. He hasn’t killed them yet and is cautiously optimistic that maybe this time they will thrive. Brushing the dirt from his hands, he turns his attention to the cards sat neatly in the center of the table. They glow within the shaft of sunlight he had placed them in, waiting for his hands to pick them up and deal.  
  
He lifts them from the table and closes his eyes, the deck warm in his hands. Centuries old and lovingly worn from years of use, it's the only deck he uses for this; his fingers running over the nicks and scratches as familiar to him as his own face. He shuffles them lightly and centers himself as he closes his eyes to recall details from the dream.

 _Sunshine spills over the ground in bold, arcing swathes of liquid gold; dappling the autumn leaves and painting the crests of the tiny waves on water. The silence is palpable, all sound whisked away as if he were trapped within an amber bubble. He walks, filled with a breathless expectancy as the feeling of rightness swells. He can sense it now, can sense_ _ **him**_ _now and knows that this time will be the last._  
  
_He rounds the turn in the path and comes to a halt at the sight of the man before him. He's standing still in the glow of the waning day, waiting for Phil to approach. He can't see his face, but he knows it's him and nearly sobs for joy. His endless searching finally at an end, he opens his mouth to call out to the man on the path…_

  
  
Phil had woken before he could utter a sound, as was always the case in these dreams. His foresight is a limited one, doling out fragments of imagery to be pieced together throughout the many years he's been waiting. He’s been patient throughout his many lives, but time is running out and his hope with it.

  
*

  
He lays the spread in his favored trieske pattern, his hands deft and sure. He let his mind drift while he shuffled the cards before focusing now on the memories that remain from past memories and former dreams. His hands shake a bit when he sets the remaining deck aside and steadies himself with a deep breath. His first three cards are ever the same and yet, he still finds himself eager to see what the Tarot has to say.  
  
He turns the Covering over and finds the Three of Swords: his sorrow and grief at not being able to find the one person capable of ending his never-ending cycle of death and regeneration. He'd thought he'd found them once; vague, blurry memories of brown eyes and soft curves beneath him but they hadn’t been the one.  
  
The Crossing reveals the Three of Wands, reversed. A reminder of previous failures. Of previous times being brought to a grinding halt by his constant enemy- time.  
  
The Root card follows and tells of past events that influence his search today. His card is Death, as it ever is. Endings and beginnings and the constant metamorphosis into a new life where he can't quite remember the things that came before but he can't quite forget either. Bits and pieces of times and places; of a simple village cottage and the tiny garden behind, of a smoky backroom in a secret London molly house. Different faces and different bodies, always searching but never right.  
  
He trails his fingers over the next card, letting the textures soothe him. He can't do a successful reading when his emotions are shaky so he lets the wavering images go, to dissolve back into his psyche like sugar on his tongue before turning over the next card.  
  
His breath catches when the Future reveals the Ten of Cups. He traces the figures embracing on the card and tears fill his eyes as he ponders the meaning of the card. Symbolizing love and contentment, he's filled with the burgeoning hope that this will be the correct time and place and he will finally find his missing piece.  
  
Eager now, he flips the final card in the spread. His Outcome is the World, a card indicating a sense of wholeness, achievement, fulfillment, and completion. He scoops the cards up with a giddy laugh and holds them tight to his chest.  
  
He now knows that this is the right time, the right place and he weeps with joy and an overwhelming relief, ready to search one last time.  
  
*  
  
Walking through the crisp Autumn air, he watches the slowly sinking sun paint the sky brilliant shades of orange and gold. He drifts toward the Serpentine and breaths deep, savoring the scent of the crisp leaves as they crunch beneath the heels of his boots. The path he walks curves along the twisting banks of the lake and is dotted with benches, offering a spot of comfort for weary feet.  
  
He pauses for a moment to sit and gaze out over the water. The breeze stirs the surface and creates little waves that dance to shore, the setting sun gilding the crests. The ducks and waterfowl call to each other as he listens and breathes in the growing quiet of early evening.  
  
The sound of heavy footsteps breaks the silence, a rhythmic thud that beats up the path. Phil turns his head and watches the figure approach at a smooth lope; a jogger out for a last minute run perhaps. He turns to return to his solitary contemplation then freezes before snapping his head back to face the man who's getting closer to his bench.  
  
He passes before Phil can say a word, greeting him with a brief nod as he goes by. Phil surges to his feet, the pounding in his chest matching the words that echo in his head- _it’s him, it’s him, it’s_ _ **HIM**_ _!_  
  
He feels clumsy and slow as he stretches out a desperate, pleading hand; watching as the man's footsteps falter and slow before stumbling to a stop. “Wait,” he begs, “wait, _please_!”  
  
He turns and faces him slowly, as if in a daze. Phil has the briefest impression of dark wavy hair and deep brown eyes lit by the amber rays of the setting sun as the man lifts a trembling hand to his mouth.  
  
“It's you!” the man murmurs quietly, shock and longing and a faint resentment painting the very words in the air. He takes a step closer before offering Phil a shy, hesitant smile. “I've been waiting…”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> you can like/reblog [here](https://capriciouscrab.tumblr.com/post/182438510230/ive-missed-you-but-i-havent-met-you-rating-g) if you'd like :)


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